Page 108 of And Still Her Voice
I turned to my mother. “Yes. I’ll explain later, but right now the baby’s on his way.”
“Right,” Maggie said, looking toward the door.
“Anyway, the house looked pretty good. Mr. Jones kept asking about the piano.”
There was a pregnant pause as Mom and Maggie looked at each other.
“I told him I knew nothing.”
“Last laugh is on him,” Maggie said, winking at Mom who smiled, nodding. “So, after you left for New York back in 1970, as you know, we had to let the house go—with all of the furniture and furnishings. The attorney Mom hired to try and save the house sold it out from under us to a third party, a Mr. Jones. He brought in cleaners and painters and carpenters to fix up the house before he could move in. The piano, covered in a drop cloth, was still there after they completed their jobs.”
“Maggie, how do you know?”
She smiled devilishly. “Marquez & Sons Painting.”
“Uncle Teodoro?”
“Sal said it was like a magic disappearing act. Once he pulled the cloth—now you see it, now you don’t—the piano was gone.”
“Are you serious? What happened to it?”
“We needed money. We barely got peanuts from the sale of the house. It wasn’t fair. Get this, our cousin knew a guy who knew the owner of the Troubadour Club. Turns out the club needed the piano for this new British rock ‘n’ roller who would only play on a Steinway. Maybe you’ve heard of him? Elton John.”
I laughed. “Now you’re pulling my leg.”
“Where do you think Mom got the money to send before you headed off to India? I went to the concert just to check out the piano and just before he came on stage, I had a chance to sneak up and check the underbelly and sure enough, there was your “A” and my “M” carved in the wood. Pretty cool, huh? The place was packed. He put on a good show. Cleopatra never sounded so good.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Hey, you were good,” Maggie said, “but, I never saw you do a handstand on the keyboard.”
I laughed. “I’ll bet she’s worth a ton now.”
“Yeah, just like our old house.”
“And speaking of our old house–” Mom said, as the nurse brought in the baby and placed him in my arms. She leaned in to take a peek and I handed him off to her.
“Aye. He looks just like a Marquez, except for the nose. Lots of black hair.” She smoothed it back. “What’s his name?
“Dylan.” I could see my mother’s face tangle up. “Dylan River Steele.” I’d added the middle name, so that the memory of my soul brother might live on.
There was a knock at the door. Josie peaked in. “Hey, when’s it my turn?”
“Where are the kids?” Patty asked, and as Josie swung the door open wide, I could see the excited faces of my niece and nephew.
“Hi Auntie Anna!” they squealed, and Patty quickly sprang from her seat to usher them all out of the room.
My baby sister walked over to my mother to look at Dylan. “Oh, he’s like a little doll.” She got all teary-eyed. “Can I hold him?”
“Not yet.” Grandma bear held the baby even closer. “He doesn’t have a Christian name.” She lamented as if Josie might drop him and he’d die without a proper name. “Que lastima,” she said smiling down at Dylan.
“Just because it’s not in the Bible, Mom? It means son of the sea. Sort of like our last name LeMar, the sea.”
Mom thought about it and then smiled, her face turning calm as an ocean at dawn as she looked at the baby. “Hola angelito del mar.” She rocked him the way I remember being rocked through the ages by all the mothers, grandmothers, and great-grandmotherswho came before me, the same way I would rock my children, the same way my children would rock my grandchildren. As it was in the beginning, as it is now and forever shall be a mother’s love. A mother will do anything for her children—and her grandchildren.
Dylan had fallen asleep, his tiny chest rising and falling like a little bird. His lids fluttered as he chased angels in his sleep.
And then, as if an afterthought, Mom looked up and whispered, “Oh, by the way, good news.” And I thought the moment couldn’t get any better. “It’s about the house. Mr. Jones called to say we can have it back for what he paid us. He said he didn’t want to live in a house haunted by some old woman.”
As surprised as I was to hear what happened, I remembered back at the Glendale house how Grandma Phoebe had said so many things using my voice. I had a vague memory of her telling Mr. Jones, in no uncertain terms, that if he didn’t give the house back, she’d haunt him and his children and his children’s children for the rest of their lives.
My mother bravely examined my eyes. “Thank you, Phoebe.” She handed Dylan to me, a gesture as if she could trust us now with my own child.
“Mom, Grandma’s gone.” A tear escaped my eye, not for Grandma but for the childhood that got robbed. Except, Mom didn’t seem to notice or comprehend. I’d have to explain later. For now, I felt the void, the missing half of the person who had been me for so long. I hugged Dylan, another tear dripping silently onto his cheek. I wouldn’t let anyone steal his childhood.
“I still have some money saved from selling the piano so after this we’re headed over to sign the papers.” I couldn’t believe my ears, but I didn’t want to stop my mother from talking, with her mouth and her hands. “I asked my brother if he would like to move back onto the property, but this time into the big house with Othelia. It’s just Josie and me now so we can take the smaller apartment in the back part.” I hadn’t seen Mom this excited—ever.“There’s plenty of room for you to visit. We’ll even get a swing set for the grandkids. Dylan—aye, what a name—can run around and splash in the creek like you used to.”
Blinded by tears, I could still see us all splashing in the brook that flowed alongside the house, running around the backyard as the children we once were, the child I once was before I drifted away. But then on the other side of the narrow river, I saw the raft had been laid down gently on the bank, the oars off to the side. I hadn’t drowned, after all. I’d more than survived, I’d thrived.
Au revoir, Grandma Phoebe.
